by Simon Kewin
There was a loud tapping noise from behind her, like three or four strikes on a small drum. Confused, she spun around to see Nox, holding a pistol and sighting along its barrel. He fired at the creature. Each shot missed the dancing Ran and struck the undain. The creature appeared not to notice. It continued to flail at the dragonrider, as if bullets couldn't harm it. Maybe it didn't have vital organs. It was just an assortment of parts lashed together and magically animated.
Ran, meanwhile, had drawn a knife from his belt: a pathetically small hunting knife that Danny and Johnny had bought in the shop in Dublin. It didn't look like it would be able to inflict much damage, but Ran didn't let that stop him. He began to slash at the creature's limbs.
Cait stepped forward, holding her hand forward as if the simple act would make the magic work. The creature lashed out at her with a claw, sending her crashing into the bank. For a moment she was winded, confused, some stone or tree root digging painfully into her back. The creature had attacked her. Tried to hurt her. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Rage flared within her. Anger at being struck. Anger at everything damn thing that had happened to her. She didn't want any of this. There was a moment, a brief moment, when she knew she could control the rage. Set it aside. But instead she channelled it, let the fury take her. She'd pay for it with the agonies that would follow, but the foul creature would pay a higher price. And it wasn't only her rage. The witch-girl from the tower-blocks was there too, her quiet voice guiding her, showing her the way.
Like this. Do it like this.
The vile creature towered over her, jaws wide, the stench of decay enough to make her gag. It had to be now. The creature wasn't going to spare her. In a voice that was partly her own and partly that of the dead girl from the ground beneath Manchester, Cait screamed.
Cold magic like a winter wind flared from her hand. The pain cut through her immediately, sharp as if she'd been cut, but she carried on, refusing to relent. Welcoming the pain, almost, because it meant she was harming the creature.
The Bone Harvester shrieked and writhed in the icy blast. It pushed forward, struggling against the gale. With one final effort it lunged and Cait ducked, covering her head, stemming the flow of magic.
She crouched there, expecting the creature's jaws to seize her. Nothing happened. The creature loomed over her, but like the guards outside the factory, blue frost covered it. It wasn't frozen solid, though. It was too big, too bulky. Instead it writhed and twisted, as if being attacked by countless invisible insects. What had she worked? The magic had a shape, a form in her mind and this time there'd been something different about it. Some new spell the witch-girl had worked.
A patina of ice coated the creature's flesh, blooming like the fronds of ferns. The ice crackled as the cold intensified. The magic was still working away, seeping into joints, opening up fissures. Ice crystals gleamed in the creature's startled eyes. It writhed and twisted as if bugs were burrowing inside it.
It grated a single, agonized shriek and exploded.
Cait threw herself to the ground and covered her head. Shards of ice and bone clattered into her, cutting into her arms and back and legs, each prick sharp and freezing at the same time. At the same time, cramps tugged at her insides from the magic she'd worked.
When the hailstorm stopped she looked up. The Bone Harvester was no more, shattered to mismatched fragments of bone and flesh. She'd done it. Incredibly, with the help of the witch-girl, she'd done it. She rose to wobbly legs, hauling herself up by the tree roots in the bank just as the broken undain had.
The pain inside her was still intense, blotting out the cuts on her skin from the ice. Despite this, she felt the weird urge to laugh out loud.
We did it! We did it! The voice within was gleeful, girlish.
How did we do it? said Cait. What did we do?
Evil magic held it together, gave it strength, said the girl. But the ice. The ice broke it. Broke the magic and broke the creature. We did it!
The pain was subsiding slightly now, the tearing sensations in her insides fading. Would there ever come a time when it didn't? If she went too far? She had to be careful. The danger of working magic was terrible. She had so much to learn.
Ran lay a few yards away, his face and the backs of his hands bleeding from the fragments of bone that had hit him. But he was alive, his eyes wide at what he'd witnessed. Nox was OK, too, cowering behind the hedge, gun still in his hand.
“It attacked me,” she said, as if this was the funniest thing in the world. “I didn't think it would, but it tried to kill me. Why did it try to kill me?”
“Why wouldn't it?” said Nox.
“The blood,” said Cait. “They need me alive, remember?”
Nox jumped into the lane, slipping his gun back into his backpack. “Actually, it's a good thing it tried to kill you.”
That stopped her laughing. “What do you mean?”
“The undain in Manchester were instructed to find you, you or someone from your family, and bring you in alive. This creature clearly wasn't. You were just bones to it. Which means they have no idea you're out here.”
“I suppose you're right. Still, it doesn't make me feel much better. On balance I think I preferred it when they weren't trying to eat me alive.” She crossed the lane to offer Ran a hand, hauling him up as he'd done so often for her.
“It wouldn't eat you, Cait,” said Nox. “It…”
He stopped, staring up into the sky at something. She tried to follow his gaze but could see only the swaying branches. Ran sprang onto the bank and up one of the trees to get a better view.
“Cait?” said Nox.
“What is it?”
“That magic you worked. Can you do it again?”
She couldn't. She was spent. “Why?”
Nox pointed at something. “Because I think you're going to have to.”
She caught a glimpse of it: another Harvester, wide wings flapping unevenly as if it were a broken toy. It circled around them. The grating cry from it echoed through the air, deeper and coarser than the first one.
“You think it heard the boy's whistle as well?”
“Either that or it caught the death-call of the other and now it's come for all the bones.”
She looked from Nox to Ran. What could they do? She'd thrown everything into the magic to destroy the first creature. Perhaps too much. The agony had faded but she felt limp, weak. She should have held something back. She couldn't manage it again. Deep inside, a faint whisper in the fog, the voice of the witch-girl said, No, no, oh no…
“We have to run,” said Cait.
“Run where?” said Nox. “I told you we needed to find shelter. We've got nowhere to run to.”
“We have to try.” All her amusement had leeched away. She barely had the strength to walk. But they couldn't just stand there and wait. She set off, backing away from the ruined monster in the road. Perhaps between the two destroyed undain there would be enough bones to satisfy the new creature. Perhaps it wouldn't come for them. Perhaps they had a chance.
The shadow of its wings swept over them, darkening the lane. The stench of its decay was sickening. The croaking call came again, much nearer, like a metal bucket full of rocks. The ground shook as the creature landed. It was even bigger than the first one, its skin a tattered patchwork of greens and greys, the talons of its claws like swords skittering on the lane.
Ran attacked, vaulting onto the hedge, running along a short way and then leaping onto the creature's back. He sat there as if he were riding it, plunging the knife into the creature's body again and again. Nox had his gun out and was firing shot after shot. Neither had much chance but they tried anyway. She had to do the same. The creature strode toward her, mouth gaping in a roar. Somehow she had to do this.
Help me, she said to the dead witch-girl. You have to help me. Please.
Distantly, the cold fury within awakened. It swirled sluggishly, but then whirled a little faster. The pain of it was already s
harp, as if old wounds were being opened up and rubbed raw. The storm grew until it howled and raged.
There was a moment, a brief moment, when the pain was too much. Dizziness and disorientation made her stagger sideways. She was losing it. She caught a glimpse of an impossible vision: buildings and cars from back home. A strange sensation seized her, as if a ghost were passing through her mind.
She forced it away. She had to fight. With a scream that was part rage and part agony, Cait unleashed a second bolt of blue cold. It poured from her and slammed into the Harvester. The creature charged at her in the same moment.
Cait threw everything she had into it. The world about her faded, like the curtains closing on a stage at the end of a play. She was losing consciousness, too exhausted, racked by too much pain. She seemed to be outside her own body, staring down at herself on the lane. Her blue hair and the blue ice arcing from her hands and the lumbering undain horror about to reach her.
Then came a moment of dizziness, a sensation of falling. The world went dark and she knew no more.
4. The Gates of Hell
Genera, Inc.
Clara Sweetley stood in the cavernous hall at the heart of the refinery, her pulse beating with a delicious fear. The great day was finally here. Her moment of triumph.
This close, she could make out the words upon the rock-face above the waterfall: The Gates of Hell. They'd been carved there three hundred years ago, before the refinery had been built to enclose the waterfall, before Genera existed. Local folklore had given this outcrop of rock a dark reputation. There were plenty of old tales of the nightmare creatures that emerged through the curtain of water. Of screams in the night and stolen children. All true, of course, all true. It might not be hell the gateway led to, but Angere was close enough. And Clara was going there. She smiled to herself at the prospect.
Cold spray from the cataract misted her face. She paid it no attention. Today she would step through that cascade and enter into the presence of the Witch King himself. Menhroth the First and Last. Menhroth the Undying. Her careful plans over so many years were bearing fruit. So much time spent trotting along in Nox's shadow, obeying his orders, vying with his other lieutenants for promotion.
All of them men, of course. That was how it went. She'd had to battle her way up from the bottom, twice as smart, twice as ruthless. She'd made enemies, sure. Done things she might regret if she stopped to think about it. She didn't stop to think about it. It was all worth it. Today, finally, she'd be anointed Executive Director of Genera, the King's eyes and hands in this world. And who knew where that might lead? She'd heard whispers of the undain's immortality. That must have been Nox's prize, one that had been snatched away from him. Really, she had to smile. She'd smile all the more when she became one of the undain instead.
Oh, she'd taken risks. The part she'd played in helping the schoolgirl escape the refinery, for example. A few security systems distracted at the right moment. One or two guards assigned to bogus tasks. It was surprisingly easy. Quite why Angere considered the girl so important she didn't understand. Something to do with a prophecy. Or a spell. Some fantastical nonsense. It didn't really matter. All she knew was Angere wanted this Cait Weerd badly. Which made the girl a valuable commodity. Ensuring Nox lost her had been very good for Clara Sweetley's career.
She glanced aside at Williams, her Chief of Security. “Any word of Nox yet?” She had to shout over the roar of the waterfall and the deep thrum of the machinery in the walls. She didn't mind. She was used to shouting; she found people responded to it. They liked clear instruction.
“Nothing,” said Williams. His bald head and face were covered in a sheen of spray. His expensive suit was soaked through. He wouldn't dare complain. “Nox was in the Forest of Dean when our riders encountered the renegades there, but he didn't accompany them to Manchester.”
She scowled, pretending to be angrier than she was. Much better to track down Nox once she was established and could take all the credit. “And have you worked out where they jumped after Manchester?”
“No. They seem to know a lot more about the portals than we do.”
“How is that possible?”
“We don't know.”
“And Nox? How is it he knows where all the gateways are?”
“We don't know.”
“You don't know very much, do you?”
Williams' glum expression became a notch glummer. “We're doing our best to find out, Ms. Sweetley, I assure you.”
“And this book Nox took? Any news of that?”
“Nothing. I think Mr. Nox has it with him. Perhaps as a bargaining chip.”
“Is that what you think?”
Williams nodded but didn't reply. He looked worried now. He was in her debt, and he knew it. She'd saved him after the girl escaped. He should have lost his job. His job and a lot more besides. But she'd insisted they needed him and so Williams had stayed. He'd be loyal for a while and then, if the security lapses did come to light, he could take the blame. She'd make sure of it.
She turned away from Williams to her personal assistant standing at her other side, appointed to her when she'd taken over from Nox. What was her name? Diane? Diana? Whatever. “How much longer before we can go through?”
“A few minutes, Ms. Sweetley,” replied Diane or Diana, consulting an iPad in a waterproof case. “There are three Bone containers and then you.”
Ms. Sweetley nodded. She thought about expressing her impatience at being made to wait, but decided against it. No point doing anything to upset Angere. Not now. Despite her successes she had to be careful. In this game, you always had to be careful. Nox was still at large, and there were those within Genera loyal to him. Or, at least, who disliked her more. A word from one of them to their masters in Angere could ruin everything. She would keep her impatience to herself. She was good at that.
The bound figure kneeling on the ground beside her, his arms tied behind his back, his mouth gagged so he couldn't cry out, made her feel better about everything. Strictly speaking, the boy had been captured by the undain, not Genera. But she'd offered to escort him through the gateway into the presence of the Witch King, and the undain had agreed. She had to laugh. They were good at being superhuman undead horrors, but they had a lot to learn about politics. She kicked the boy with one of her expensive shoes. He groaned and looked up at her, his brown eyes wide. Her gift for the Witch King. One way or another the boy would tell the undain everything. She almost felt sorry for him. Except he was a pawn, a playing piece. He wasn't important.
In front of them, the last of the containers lumbered into the waterfall on the tank-track conveyor belt. Another lorry-load of Bone. It had taken time to undo Nox's little acts of sabotage. Once they'd got the network fully functional, she'd increased throughput by a couple of percent. A simple matter of draining global stockpiles. Nothing they couldn't sustain for a week or two. Enough, hopefully, to please Menhroth and calm any fears he might have about her. She'd upped Spirit extraction levels a few points, too. The great silver pipe that led through the waterfall was running at 80% capacity. She'd explain how Nox had made mistakes, let things slip. Make it clear they could rely on her. Then, when her position at the top of Genera was secure, she could address the other problems. Nox and the girl. How hard could it be for a globe-spanning corporation that controlled just about everything to track down two people? Their capture was only a matter of time. When she handed the fugitives over to Angere, she could take credit for everything.
The prospect was delicious. It would take time, years maybe, to win the ultimate prize, but today she was taking a big step forward.
“We're ready, Ms. Sweetley,” said her PA. “Would you like an umbrella?”
“No, that won't be necessary. A bit of water never harmed anyone.”
“When should we expect you back?”
“Hard to say. Cancel my other appointments. If anyone gets in touch tell them I've gone to Hell.”
“Of course, Ms. Sweet
ley.”
She nodded to the guard standing over the boy. “Untie his legs so he can walk. He can follow me through.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said the guard. “Shall I accompany you to ensure he complies?”
“There's no need. But if he tries to run away, do shoot him, won't you?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She marched forward, not looking back, holding her head high. She was in a position of strength, that was the thing to remember. The undain needed Genera and she was the best person to run Genera. So long as she gave them what they wanted all would be well.
Sheets of water gushed from the rock face that the vault, the whole refinery, was built around. She could hear and see nothing but the roaring of the cataract. She kept walking, without checking if the boy was behind her. She couldn't be seen to hesitate. She reached the solid wall of water and strode through. The force of the downpour hammering onto her head almost knocked her down, the noise through her skull like the beating of metal drums. The soaking cold made her gasp. She sucked in water and for a moment couldn't breathe. Spluttering and coughing, she pressed on. How far did she have to walk to get through to Angere? And why did it have to be a damn waterfall anyway? Nox had told her they could do nothing about it. This was how the gateway worked. The magic. Well, she'd see about that. It was complete nonsense, like something from a children's book. When she was in charge she'd make changes, drag them kicking and screaming into the modern world. Assuming she reached Angere without drowning. It was a good job she'd put waterproof make-up on.
Then, suddenly, it was over. A white light blinded her. She gulped air in great, ragged breaths and squinted, one hand shielding her eyes. Her sight began to adjust. She forced herself to stand upright. She was completely dry. Nox had told her the water didn't follow you through the portal. More fairy-tale nonsense, she'd thought, but that, at least, turned out to be true. She smoothed the lines of her skirt and made sure her hair was back in place.
The whole world gleamed white. She stood in the middle of a wide square, bordered by walls and towers and spires, dazzling sunlight glaring off every surface. It was an incredible sight. Buildings the colour of the full moon on a winter's night. Although, of course, she knew what she was really seeing. Knew what those domes and towers and steeples were made of. They shipped vast quantities through the portal, just as they had for nearly two hundred years. And this was where it all went. The glory of the White City. Countless millions of carved human bones. It was more beautiful than she'd ever imagined.